Checkmate
by WickedHope
Summary: Xehanort and Eraqus used to play chess. Xehanort hated to lose, and Eraqus longed for the day that he would finally surprise Xehanort. Cutting together the fateful chess game from KH3 and Eraqus and Xehanort's final moments together, Eraqus considers his best friend of past and future, how he has changed, and how he hasn't. Oneshot!


"**Checkmate"**

**By WickedHope**

**A/N: **The world of _Kingdom Hearts _has always been my absolute favorite. It entranced me since I found myself WEEPING playing the first game when Sora cut out his damn heart for Kairi (spoiler alert!). I adored that it was a story driven entirely by love, by wanting to save someone else more than preserve yourself. I always wanted to write a fic for it, and after playing the end of KH3, I couldn't resist Xehanort and Eraqus's story.

Onward!

* * *

"I told ya you might be surprised?" Eraqus smiled across the chessboard at Xehanort.

The two sat on the cushioned windowsill, light streaming in from every side of them. It was just before twilight, precisely that golden hour where the dying sunlight washed away the imperfections of the world and everything seemed to glitter and shimmer and glow.

Xehanort, who very well might have been surprised, stayed almost perfectly statuesque. There may have been a catch of breath, his eyes may have opened a bit wider. But on the whole, his expression stayed quite the same.

It rarely changed, in fact.

* * *

From the moment Xehanort arrived in Scala ad Caelum, Eraqus wondered how in the world he might shock the young traveler.

Xehanort claimed to have traveled from the Destiny Islands. Eraqus considered this at great length. He had heard of that world before – an archipelago that seemed to float freely in the space between the worlds, mired in an endless ocean and riddled with islanders who seemed to wear grand fates as badges of honor. "A birthplace of heroes" some heralded it, and others "a crossroads for the strongest of souls."

At first glance, Eraqus found Xehanort to fit the bill.

He looked enough like an islander – the tanned, leather-like skin worn like an armor against the sun; the lithe, ropey muscles of someone accustomed to scaling trees; and the quiet, intense eyes of someone who wasn't afraid of launch themselves into a tidal wave.

_Yes, that's the true hallmark of someone hailing from the Destiny Islands, isn't it?_ Eraqus thought. He remembered clearly the day Xehanort learned he was to become a Keyblade wielder. Xehanort did little more than shrug. It was as if the revelation made _sense _to him – of course he was meant to wield a Keyblade! It seemed the natural next step to him. Clearly, his life led to that moment, and his fire-sewn eyes looked upon the prospect fiercely.

Eraqus, in his time, came to be glad that Xehanort stayed in Scala ad Caelum. Thought the boy scarcely provided comfort – no, far from it – he liked the reminder that there was something greater beyond his own storied world and his familiar storybook castle. The endless tumult of uncharted seas: that was what lived inside Xehanort's eyes.

And Eraqus knew at a glance that Xehanort intended to traverse them all.

As time went on, Eraqus wanted to as well.

"I told ya you might be surprised?" A coy, subtle smile. Eraqus waited for the break, holding his breath in expectation of the gasp or the laughter to show that Xehanort was finally surprised.

"Huh?" He cocked his head. He _almost _furrowed his eyebrows, but not quite. He stared for a long moment, not shocked, but perplexed, as though the idea of loss did not register fully.

"Yeah, you got me," he stated plainly after a while.

And in turn, it was Eraqus instead who was surprised.

"Really?" he stammered. He thought the sky might fall, the sun might fall into the water, that the worlds might stitch themselves together again at that very moment.

"What?"

Eraqus simply shrugged. "It's just...you never admit it when you lose."

And at last, Xehanort smiled. "That's 'cause I never lose."

"Oh, come on," Eraqus scoffed.

And then they both laughed. It burst free from their chests – straight from their hearts – and rang against the halls of the empty room.

* * *

Eraqus remained for a long time the only person who had ever beaten Xehanort, though at more than just chess. He found it tough to win. For in spite of his experience – far superior as far as he was concerned – Eraqus quickly learned he was not playing the standard game. When one matched wits – or blades – with Xehanort, they played strictly by his rules. It was Xehanort's game.

Before they played chess, they sparred, at the behest of their master.

Until the moment where they first clashed, Keyblade to Keyblade in a fenced-in courtyard, Eraqus had begun to doubt that anyone would get to spar Xehanort. He preferred solitude, sparring the air and studying in private. A fear nestled itself inside some pit within Eraqus. It prompted him to believe that he had unintentionally found himself a rival. Eraqus had always been of the ambitious sort, and he knew Xehanort to be the same, but he disliked the idea of competition. He did not want to constantly measure himself against the progress of another.

But then the two young wielders sparred.

And Eraqus realized that while he might loathe competition, he loved sport.

Each blow he landed on Xehanort was a triumph. He stood taller, suddenly moved faster. He never struck with malice.

Of Xehanort's intentions, he was not so sure.

Xehanort said little when they sparred. He fought dutifully, methodically. He took each blow in stride, and when he struck back, Eraqus couldn't help but believe it was vengeful. Xehanort was skilled. The ebb and flow of combat lived naturally within him.

_Like a wave, _Eraqus thought with a smile.

And still the boy from the Destiny Islands could not be caught off-guard.

Eraqus did gain a few tricks as time passed. In the heat of one match, Eraqus gave himself a running start and leapt into the air, his Keyblade raised high for a full-frontal attack. Xehanort raised his blade longways above his head, ready to parry. Because the attack was obvious. Then before Eraqus followed through and brought his Keyblade down, he vanished...

...and a reappeared a moment later, squatting behind Xehanort and ready to swipe his blade low.

Eraqus smiled. He was pleased with himself. He'd toiled for weeks to master that move.

Yet when he looked up at Xehanort, he found his face expressionless.

Eraqus's stomach tightened. Frustration gnawed at him. It seemed as if Xehanort knew everything he was capable of! He could predict each move before he made it, parry each blow before it landed.

With a grunt, Eraqus swung his Keyblade hard. There was nothing sneaky about the maneuver, but Eraqus still had speed. He struck Xehanort's stomach hard before he react. Xehanort huffed and moaned as the wind flew from his lips. His Keyblade slipped free of his fingers and clattered against the courtyard's stone floor.

Eraqus stood, momentary concern washed away by pride. He swung his Keyblade over his shoulder and retrieved Xehanort's with his free hand. The other boy was still doubled over a few feet away. Eraqus feared he had struck him too hard, but when he extended the Keyblade to him, it shimmered.

Xehanort stood slowly. His Keyblade flickered into his hand.

"Good game today," Eraqus said. He reached out to touch Xehanort's shoulder, but just as his fingers brushed warm, tense skin, Xehanort shrugged him off.

"Magic like that isn't permitted at this level of sparring," Xehanort scolded. "We spar to polish our Keyblade skills. If you need to supplement those with magic, clearly you can use more practice."

And Xehanort stalked off, leaving a wounded Eraqus alone in the middle of courtyard. _He's only talking like that because he lost and won't admit it! _Eraqus thought, but knew that didn't matter.

Xehanort seemed less like an islander in that moment – less carefree, his body made of stone rather than sand. Coarser, immovable – neither wind nor water it seemed could wear him down.

They did not spar for weeks. Then the idea came to Eraqus that they might try to competing with something a bit less...consequential.

He suggested chess.

* * *

Xehanort turned out to be even better on the chessboard than he was on the battlefield. Every afternoon, the two boys would sit on the windowsill, outmaneuvering each other until Xehanort inevitably called "Checkmate!" Xehanort began to grow weary of winning, in fact, begging that they go back to sparring instead. But every day, Eraqus would insist they play again, coaxing, "Hey, I might surprise you."

Until finally, he did.

"Good game today." Xehanort spoke matter-of-factly.

"I try." It was the best Eraqus could do. To see Xehanort lose with such grace was new territory for him. He had to learn how to navigate.

Then Xehanort became quiet. He was always quiet, but something came over him. He grew contemplative. Eraqus watched him as he was struck by...not shock. No, it wasn't strict surprise, but revelation, perhaps. Realzation. Suddenly, Xehanort knew something he hadn't before.

"Maybe I won't go as far as you."

"Huh?"

What did that mean? In all the time Eraqus had known Xehanort, the boy proved to be nothing if not superior – in battle, in intellect.

But hiding behind his curtain of silver hair, Xehanort looked smaller. Younger. The ageless wisdom – as old as the Destiny Islands themselves – that rested within him must have abandoned him.

"When a world needs a defender," Xehanort said, "they'll pick you, Eraqus."

Eraqus couldn't tell if it was an admission – and if so, of what? Was Xehanort admitting defeat, or was he sharing a secret that hew already knew but Eraqus hadn't quiet figured out yet? Eraqus was inclined to the second.

"You think?" Eraqus asked, challening him.

Xehanort nodded, firmly.

Eraqus had never doubted Xehanort before. He led with a conviction that was irresistible – the kind that could seduce someone to madness, or lead a soldier headlong into slaughter.

Xehanort nodded, and it was all Eraqus needed.

But Xehanort didn't stop there

"But that doesn't mean that I can't be there for you," the silver-haired boy said. And that was a promise.

Eraqus considered the prospect. It was one thing to imagine himself the defender of the world – and it took _quite _a bit of imagination to talk himself into that. But to picture there beside him made it all somehow easier to comprehend.

"Yeah," Eraqus replied. "And _I'll _be there for you."

Because it was easier to call himself a defender if he knew exactly what he was defending.

Xehanort smiled, and it was like a handshake. They had a deal now.

Eraqus smile faded slowly Xehanort didn't look away. And in one, long, obvious maneuver, Eraqus leaned across the chess board and pressed his lips to Xehanort's.

Xehanort did not take long to kiss back. Eraqus's hands found the front of Xehanort's shirt, and Xehanort's hands came up to keep them there. He felt the islander's warm tense skin soften, perhaps for the first time. Stone melted into sand. And as Eraqus's lips brushed Xehanort's again (and again and again), he he sensed a tremor pass through Xehanort.

Doubt – that was what frightened Xehanort, the eternal worm that continued to gnaw at him, and the only shock that could truly surprise him. But not doubt in who he was, nor doubt in what he knew. Rather, doubt that he might not know everything.

But in that moment, Eraqus thought that perhaps Xehanort had conquered his fear. In the boy's eyes, he watched him grapple doubt. And for once, the islander let himself loose, to be carried by the sea into the unknown.

They parted, and Xehanort still smiled.

It had been a lifetime since Eraqus had seen Xehanort, and a hair longer than that since he had been able to call him a friend.

But when Eraqus emerged from within Terra's heart, it was as if nothing had changed.

They had changed, of course. Very little had in fact remained the same. Their faces had sagged and wrinkled. Xehanort's shoulders had slumped. Their beards had grown in, Eraqus's peppered with the same white salt Xehanort had always boasted. Eraqus and Xehanort stood opposite each other in the same courtyard that they had the first time they'd laid eyes on each other – and the first time they'd sparred. Xehanort wielded a mythic weapon, and Eraqus held nothing.

But Eraqus noticed that much remained the same.

Xehanort watched Eraqus carefully, like a cat, plotting out his next moves before even he could think of them. And Eraqus registered in Xehanort's face a subtle change, one he'd clocked long ago that it would take practiced eye to see.

Though his face would not betray him, Xehanort was surprised.

As always, they played Xehanort's game by Xehanort's rules.

And for once, Eraqus had won.

The familiar frustration, the refusal and denial of defeat as Eraqus called on Xehanort to surrender his weapon to the young Keyblade wielders, the insistence that he can do it all himself – that all was still the same, too. Immovable rock where there should have been sand susceptible to the waves' pull. And when Eraqus' laid his hand on Xehanort's, still warm to the touch, he felt the fear and tension evaporate.

"Checkmate."

And Xehanort knew, like that day in the library, that it was all over.

Xehanort trudged across the courtyard and left the χ-blade in Sora's hand, and commended him.

"Very well done."

Like it had all been just a game.

Eraqus looked over Sora as Xehanort walked away from him. He recognized a part of himself in Sora – the same part of himself that he had seen in Terra, Aqua, and Ven – the part that made him know they too could defend the world. Sora, like Eraqus, had someone he wanted to defend.

Xehanort stood next to Eraqus – arms draped over their shoulder, unsure of who was carrying who – and the two began to fade away. And for a long moment, as they stood in the courtyard like they had as boys, it was like nothing had changed. Like the game had never ended.

They sat in silence for a long while. Not a scared, heavy silence, but a comfortable one. Until a thought came to Eraqus.

"Oh, right."

And with hurry, Eraqus went about laying the pieces back on the board, fewer this time. He place seven black pieces on Xehanort's side of the board.

"What's this?" Xehanort asked.

"I heard about this new game," Eraqus said, close to bursting.

"Seven black pieces," Xehanort breathed. "And?"

"Just watch..."

And as the sun set behind them, Eraqus threw down a single white piece, topped with a crown.

Wonder sparkled in Xehanort's eyes. He waited anxiously for the next move, eager to learn to the new game.

That was how to surprise him, Eraqus knew. To always have a next step. To always have another game.

* * *

**A/N: **Watcha think?! Loved it, hated it, please let me know in the comments below.

'Til next time, Keyblade wielders.

**WickedHope.**


End file.
